My Mind's Aflame
by smellslikechai
Summary: Warning for drug usage.  A night of smoking in Tina's basement leads to development between Sam and Blaine. Or, Sam puts the moves on Blaine but surely it can't mean anything because they're just friends, right?


Blaine stares enchantedly at the translucent, wispy smoke curling out of Sam's mouth, following its trajectory up and across the basement. His heart is pounding in a mixture of giddy anticipation and trepidation that he tries his best to hide; he's never done this before, never even been around it. Everyone in the room seems so confident, bringing the pipe to their lips with purpose, breathing in deep, playing with the smoke they exhale, and Blaine's worried he's going to make an ass out of himself.

[fix]When Junior year ended and their Senior friends took off to colleges as far away as possible, whatever social standing Blaine and Sam had had was ripped out from under, leaving them to fend for themselves amongst the brutish football jocks. They had gravitated towards each other, managing to scavenge a small group of peers both in and out of glee club.

"Pass it along, already," Tina complains, nudging Sam in the ribs.

The hit forces the rest of the smoke from Sam's lungs with a sputter. He takes a moment to cough loudly, then turns to Blaine once he's composed. "Know what you're doing?"

Blaine had volunteered to go last, hoping he'd be able to pick up on the technique, but everyone moved so swiftly and efficiently he couldn't make much out.

"It's ok," he reassures, shifting in to sit closer (and god, Blaine doesn't think his heart could be beating any louder right now). "Everyone here's been in your position. They don't care."

As Blaine scans the circle, he think Sam might be right. Everyone's (though he has no clue who the hell the majority of these people are) either talking quietly to their neighbour, or too absorbed in their phone to notice anything else.

"First," Sam says lightly, gingerly poking his finger into the bowl, observing the content. "She's bitched. Pass me the bag."

"Bitched?" Blaine asks, reaching into the centre of the circle to pass Sam the large ziplock bag of weed.

"Yeah. It's no good anymore." He dumps the ashy substance into a nearby garbage can. "I'll pack another bowl, don't worry."

He dips into the bag, dropping the weed into the pipe, occasionally picking something or other out. "Don't want that," he mumbles, though never explains what, exactly, Blaine doesn't want.

He holds out the small blue pipe and Blaine takes hesitantly. The glass is smooth and warm where Sam's been holding it.

Sam moves in closer again, pointing out a small hole in the bulbous side of the pipe. "That's the carb; you want to cover it," he slides Blaine's index finger up slightly, "like that. I'll tell you when to move your finger.

Blaine can feel his face going red now. Most of the time he just sees Sam as his friend who also happens to be really fucking gorgeous, something he can usually push away. Tonight, though, with Sam crowding him like this, the bitter, smokey tang of his breath ghosting over his face, he's finding it harder to ignore.

When Sam grabs the lighter, Blaine raises the pipe to his lips.

"Good. When I light it, you inhale."

Blaine nods as Sam holds the lit Bic over the bowl. There's a slight hiss when the fire hits the leaves, and Blaine inhales like he was instructed. When Sam pulls the lighter away he waits for a moment, looking intently at the pipe, then says, "now take your finger off."

The rush of air pulls the smoke in to his lungs faster than expected. He tries to follows Sam's instructions of holding it in as long as he can, but it burns and his eyes are beginning to water. He keeps it together long enough to blow all the smoke out, but when he tries to take in another breath he can't stop the onslaught of coughing.

Next to him Sam chuckles, telling him to try to not cough. Blaine wants to yell at him. Of course he's trying to not fucking cough, but he forces his mouth shut and after a moment of embarrassing garbled noises it subsides.

"Sorry, dude," Sam says, reaching over to pass the pipe to the girl waiting impatiently next to Blaine. "Probably should've brought out a glass of water."

"S'alright," Blaine replies, his voice scratchy and lungs still aching.

By the time the pipe makes its way back around, Blaine's feeling more confident. He's kind of figured out what he's supposed to do, and it doesn't hurt that Tina had a similar coughing fit on her turn.

"Got it?" Sam asks helpfully.

Blaine nods. He holds the lighter over the bowl, ignoring the burning sensation on his thumb and focusing on the task at hand.

He takes a smaller hoot this time, pulling off as soon as he feels the the tingling in his throat. He holds it in as long as he can then blows out. It's nothing fancy, but it's suave enough that he can sit there with his sense of pride still intact.

"It's still cherried," Sam points out, motioning at the red embers still glowing in the bowl. "Take another."

Blaine brings the pipe back up, sucking in the rest of the smoke. There's more than he thought, but he holds it in his lungs, oddly enjoying the slight burn. When he exhales, Sam claps him on the back.

The pipe is passed around the circle once more before the majority of the group rises.

"We're gonna play more Black Ops." Tina says to Sam, steadying herself on Sam's shoulder. "Fuckin' twitches. You guys in?"

Blaine shrugs. He's never been a particularly huge fan of video games, and he doesn't think he'll have much fun watching. But he knows Sam enjoys it, so he'll manage if he has to.

"We'll be out in a sec," Sam tells her. He waits until she's out the door before turning to Blaine. "How do you feel?"

Blaine takes a moment to consider the question. He feels different, for sure. Lighter maybe. Slightly less connected to what's going on around him. It's not the typical 'high' he sees on TV or in movies. He might be giddier, but he's definitely not feeling the urge to laugh over everything, and there's no sudden craving for chips and pizza. Nor does he feel particularly philosophical. He tells Sam this.

"Here," Sam sits up and grabs the abandoned pipe. "You need another hit."

Blaine tries to argue but he ignores it, packing the bowl with a small amount of weed. "Ever heard of shotgunning?"

"Uh…" Blaine has a mental image of two people leaning in close, mouths inches apart, passing smoke back and forth, but that can't be what he's talking about. Right?

"Just follow my lead."

He brings the pipe up to his lips and lights it with practiced ease. As he sucks the smoke back he moves in, one hand wrapping around the back of Blaine's neck to pull him closer.

Their lips brush.

Blaine's whole body go hot, like there's fire under his skin, and his stomach shoots up into his throat.

He feels Sam exhale and he instinctually parts his lips, sucking back the smoke from the other's mouth.

Sam's lips close in on his, gently sliding over them in a tentative kiss. Blaine blows out the smoke through his nose in shock. His face is flushing and his head is spinning and doesn't know whether to pull back or reciprocate, but then Sam pushes into it and his fingers run through his hair and Blaine's lost to any sense of reason.

He kisses back, his tongue slipping into Sam's mouth his hand resting on the worn denim of Sam's jeans, inching even closer to the other. He half expects Sam to stop at any second, to jolt away and mumble something about 'stupid mistake' and 'just the weed.'

But he doesn't. He keeps pushing, their teeth clacking and losing balance until Blaine's on his back and Sam's hovering over him. Their bodies aren't touching, not quite, but Blaine can still feel Sam's warmth through his t-shirt and he has to take a moment just to close his eyes and take a deep breath because he's finding it very difficult to keep his impending erection at bay.

"Is this ok?" Sam asks, and Blaine wants to laugh or jump or squeal because he's pretty sure nothing in his life has ever been more ok than this. Sam looks up at Blaine tentatively and that's when the trepidation sets in.

Sam's eyes are red, his capillaries enlarged and bright against the white, and Blaine wonders if pot has the same effect on inhibitions as alcohol does, and if Sam really wants this. He props himself up on one elbow, using his other hand to rest on Sam's chest, stopping him from leaning in for another kiss.

"Are you sure this is what you want?"

Sam pauses and dread sets in. Oh God, what if Sam doesn't want this? What if he realizes what he's doing right now and freaks out? What if he thinks that Blaine pushed him into it, or- or took advantage of him? He scrambles out from under Sam, hands slipping on the carpet, and falls backwards.

"Dude," Sam crawls up to him, keeping space between them. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't've pushed- I-" he breaks off, playing with a loose thread on the hem of his shirt. "But, for what's it's worth. I did want to. Really. You don't know how much I've thought about it."

The blood races back to Blaine's face. Sam wants this. He's thought about this. It's not a fluke; it's premeditated action and why aren't they kissing?

Blaine pushes himself back up and grabs Sam around the waist, kissing him for everything he's worth. And this is real. It's happening. When Sam tugs at his shirt and tosses across the room, it's not a drug-induced hallucination. Blaine pulls back to admire. He's seen Sam without a shirt on before, but he's never been able to really look. He presses back on Sam's shoulders and he lies back. Sam's nervous, Blaine can tell, but he's smirking at the way Blaine leers at his torso.

"This is just-" Blaine murmurs, running a hand down Sam's smooth chest. "Obscene."

Sam laughs genuinely and the tension lessens. "Come here," he guides Blaine so he's straddling his waist, and tries lifting Blaine's shirt. Blaine, however, is reluctant to move his hands off Sam.

"Just give me a minute," he says, shooing away Sam's hand. He plants his hands on each side of the other's chest and leans down, pressing a light kiss on his sternum. He follows it with another and another, covering Sam with kisses; some are no more than a gentle touch of lips, for others he grazes his tongue over the skin, tasting, or sucks blossoming red marks onto him.

When Sam tries again to remove his shirt, Blaine lets him. They're laying skin to skin, and it's the best feeling Blaine's ever experienced. Maybe the weed is adding to the sensation, but the way he feels Sam under him, his warm stomach rising and falling in even breaths, but even without it this would still number one by a very large margin.

And then there's the matter of bulge digging into Blaine's hip, and he's wondering if there's any dick grabbing etiquette he needs to be aware of, because he'd really just like to reach down and feel Sam in his hand, but that might be too forward. Obviously Sam notices that Blaine's just as hard as he is, if not harder, because he laughs shakily and whispers "I don't really know what I'm doing."

"Just do what feels good," he replies, and rocks his hips upwards, dragging over Sam's erection. Sam's eyes flutter closed, his mouth parts in a silent groan.

"Again."

Blaine adjusts himself so their cocks line up and once again rolls up. Sam's hands grip tightly at Blaine's waist, his hips moving with him. There's a blush staining his cheeks and across his nose, and his lips are wet and red from kissing, and Blaine can't stop staring.

"You're so beautiful."

Blaine didn't mean to say it, but he doesn't regret it either. Sam pushes himself up to his elbows and kisses Blaine again, deep and dirty like something's been ignited in him. He rolls them over, pinning Blaine under him and kissing down his stomach. He undoes the button of Blaine's jeans with a quick movement of his fingers and pulls them down without any difficulty.

"Oh, God." Blaine's hand shoots up to his hair, tugging lightly at the curls that have worked free. Sam's mouth is working over him with just a layer between them and this is everything he's tried so hard not to think of.

With a questioning look up at Blaine, Sam hooks his fingers under the waistband of Blaine's boxers, and he takes Blaine into his mouth without hesitation.

"Holy shi-t." Blaine stutters, surprised by Sam's utter enthusiasm. Sam's so warm and wet, and the way he's trailing his tongue against the underside of his cock sends shivers down his spine.

Sam pulls back, focusing on the tip, his hair brushing Blaine's stomach, and there's no way this is Sam's first time giving head.

Sam sinks down again and Blaine chances a look. Sam's lips are stretched tight around Blaine's cock, leaving wet trails in their wake and this is going to be over ridiculously fast.

Then Sam brings his hand up to pump at where his mouth can't reach, and moans around his cock. The vibrations pulse through Blaine's body, reverberating to his core, and all he can do is push up on Sam's head, moving him away before he comes with a shout.

He doesn't realize how tightly he'd been gripping his hair until he relaxes his hold. His scalp is sore and his fingers ache, but he feels so blissed from that fantastic orgasm that he doesn't even care.

"Wow," Blaine says finally, lifting his hips so he can shimmy back into his pants. He's exhausted, but Tina had warned him, earlier that night, that might happen. She said weed was a great sedative, and she was right; he could barely bring himself to move. "Wow, that was..." he leaves his jeans undone and rolls onto his side. Sam's lying on his back, arms stretched out over his face. The bulge in his jeans is still very evident, so Blaine shuffles next to him and cups Sam, rubbing over the denim. His hand slips under the jeans as Sam pulls him up for a kiss. It's an awkward angle, trying to stroke Sam in the tight confines and kiss him at the same time, but it's nice. Their lips move slowly, sliding lightly and without urgency.

He feels Sam stiffen under him, and pull back for a sharp intake of breath. Blaine works him through the orgasm, feeling the warmth of come splashing onto his hand.


End file.
